daybreak. When he went to the kitchen in search of coffee, the first thing he heard from the even earlier risers was that it had stopped snowing in the mountains. That meant the search would move into the air as well, which was a positive. Now they just needed to find the wreckage. He picked up a sweet roll and a cup of coffee, and sat down at an empty table to eat.
Lieutenant Clark walked in and spotted him. He, too, got a sweet roll and a cup of coffee, then walked over.
“Good morning, Agent Winger. I see you’re ready.”
Cameron wiped his mouth as he stood.
“Yes, sir.”
“I have planes about ready to go up. You can go with the air search, or with a ground crew. It’s your choice.”
“I choose ground.”
Clark nodded. “As soon as you’ve finished, I’ll—”
Cameron interrupted. “I’m ready now. Let me get my gear.”
Once Cameron returned, Clark headed for the back door.
“Follow me,” he said, and took a big bite of his sweet roll on the way out.
Large four-wheel-drive vehicles were coming into the parking lot every few minutes to unload cold, weary searchers who’d been out since the day before. Two big trucks were loading up on fuel, while other vehicles were waiting to take new crews of searchers out.
Clark flagged down one of the drivers, who was standing beside an older-model Suburban.
“Hey, Wilson, got room in there for one more?”
The driver, a heavyset woman with a shock of crimson-red hair, turned around. She eyed Cameron’s gear and backpack, and then nodded.
“Get in, but you may have to sit on that pack.”
“I don’t mind,” Cameron said, and climbed in.
The men inside shifted enough to give him legroom as he shoved the backpack in a corner, and then sat down in front of it, using it for a backrest. A few minutes later the doors slammed shut, and the vehicle began to move.
Cameron nodded cordially at the men but had no desire to visit. Still, one of them was more curious than the others and took away his decision to remain under the radar. The man leaned over, his hand extended in welcome.
“Reno Brown,” he said as he shook Cameron’s hand.
“Cameron Winger.”
“You’re not a local,” Reno said.
Cameron shook his head. “No, I’m from D.C.”
The other men in the vehicle eyed him curiously, but it was Reno who asked the pertinent question.
“That’s a far piece to come to look for a downed plane.”
Cameron nodded, but Reno wasn’t satisfied.
“Do you work for the FAA or something?”
“No,” Cameron said.
Reno waited for more, but when he figured out he wasn’t going to get it voluntarily, he smiled, shrugged and shut up.
Cameron shifted focus to a large clod of dirt beneath a seat that was turning into mud from the snowmelt next to it. They rode for almost an hour before the vehicle began slowing down.
“I guess we’re there,” Reno said.
A few moments later the doors opened.
“Leave your sleeping gear in the big tent, and if we’re lucky, you won’t need it,” Wilson said as the searchers began getting out.
“From your lips to God’s ears,” Reno said, and strode toward the waiting snowmobiles.
Cameron was right behind him.
“We ride in pairs,” Reno said. “The driver makes sure we don’t fall off the mountain. The rider looks for wreckage.”
Cameron stopped. He was anxious to search but didn’t want to waste time watching where they were going. He wanted to watch for signs.
“I know the area. Want to ride with me?” Reno asked.
Cameron nodded as he followed the men inside.
The on-site quarters consisted of a very large tent with at least three dozen cots set up. Another radio operator was on-site to monitor updates from the air searchers and pass info on to the ground crew. Extra food and fuel were stacked in any available free space.
The terrain was heavily wooded, with at least four, maybe five, inches of fresh snow, and it all looked alike. He left his gear beneath one of the cots and was second-guessing his decision to go with the ground search when Reno arrived carrying a handheld GPS.
“I’ve got our search coordinates entered in here. They said the temps went down to five below last night. If we don’t find the wreckage today, we’ll go from rescue to retrieval.”
“Shut the hell up,” Cameron said shortly.
Reno blinked and then gave Cameron a closer look.
“Sorry, man.”
Cameron sighed. “No, I’m sorry. Look, this is personal. My girlfriend is one of the missing passengers.”
Reno frowned. “Well, hell, I’m sorry all over again. So let’s get going. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”
Cameron held out his hand. “Can we start over?”
Reno smiled. “I’m Reno Brown.”
“Cameron Winger.”
“Nice to meet you, Cameron. You know what to look for out there?”
“Yes.”
Reno handed Cameron a helmet.
“Then off we go,” he said.
They put on the helmets as they moved toward the parked snowmobiles, and one by one, the searchers took off, moving toward the new grid pattern. Once the official search began, Reno Brown’s affable manner disappeared. He was all business as he wove through the thick growth of trees with steady skill.
Their arctic gear was welcome protection against the high-altitude cold, but it also made Cameron conscious of what the passengers in the downed plane would be enduring. He kept his gaze focused on the trees, looking for signs of broken treetops or a snow-covered shape that did not fit in to the surroundings.
The noise of so many engines startled an elk, and it bolted out of hiding and across a small meadow. Cameron watched it bound through the snow then disappear back into the forest.
The sun was bright, which made looking at the vast expanse of snow painful. The dark glasses they were wearing helped deflect
